


Winging this whole friendship thing

by Be-morbidly-chill (RammBook)



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: (I didnt say it but please its obvious), (dont know if thats a trigger but just to be sure), Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Grooming Rituals, Humming, I dont know what i am doing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Wing Care, Wing Grooming, mentions of scissors, no beta we die like men, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27421993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RammBook/pseuds/Be-morbidly-chill
Summary: Evan has always liked Jareds wings more than his own, but can a grooming session with Jared change that?Kleinsen wing fic!
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Jared Kleinman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Winging this whole friendship thing

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so hi! 
> 
> I didn't see a Kleinsen wing fic (it's possible one got deleted, I am not one of the people that's been here since the beginning) so I made one myself.
> 
> This is not beta read and I have no clue about birds (and also english isn't my first language so I might have messed up) so please if you see any mistakes feel free to point them out. I mostly made stuff up so don't expect accuracy, you will be disappointed.
> 
> It's pretty much all fluff but if you happen to see something triggering, feel free to tell me.
> 
> Once again, I haven't put any physical description of a certain actor, so imagine whoever you want to.
> 
> Now go forth and enjoy!

Evan has always liked Jareds wings, way more than his own.  
Jared’s wings have this beautiful brown colour, deep and rich, and the underside of them is blue, blue like the sky.  
The blue is oftentimes hidden, but when his wings are open, they are visible and the most beautiful thing in the room. 

Jared keeps his wings groomed too, so they’re shiny, even under the dim light of the hallway, and the feathers are aligned perfectly, in a way that seems effortless but Evan knows isn’t.

They’re _gorgeous._

In comparison, his own pale, with their light brown color and the sprinkles of red that look like blood splatters. They’re not ugly, but they’re not pretty either. They’re plain, but with enough difference so he stands out.

Next to Jared, he tends to look like the hot mess he is and wants no one to know about.

Despite this always being the case, it must be especially true today, because in addition to his broken arm, his wings are bent slightly out of shape.

It’s ruining what little confidence he had. The only good thing about it is that it won’t affect his performance, at least if he’s choosing to believe the doctor that looked at them, chuckled and told him he was lucky for not breaking them as well. 

He doesn’t feel lucky at all.

“Dude, what the fuck happened to you?” Jared asks, standing in front of Evan all of a sudden. It’s almost as if he teleported and Evan didn’t merely zone out as he was walking close, which is the more likely option.

“No, I didn’t get hurt by jacking off too hard or whatever else you were going to say,” Evan says preemptively. He’s already not feeling good, he can’t take any more or he is going to break down. Somewhere in the back of his head he is aware that he’s snapping. He knows it’s defensive, he knows it’s suspicious, but he can’t help it and what he’s said he can’t take back. “I fell out of a tree, okay?” That’s still a bit off, but at least it isn’t mean. Just the truth.  
Besides, it’s not like Jared cares if the fact that he’s throwing his arm around Evan and flicks his wing is anything to go by. 

Evan freezes. 

“You know, we have these things to _fly,_ not to catch our fall, right? What are you, Icarus? Too close to the sun and you crash down?”  
“It’s not- That’s not how that story _goes._ ” Icarus’ wings melted, it was an accident. His wings work fine. It’s nothing like this. He squirms out of Jared’s hold, who steps back. He holds his arms in front of him as a defensive gesture, almost as if he’s calming down a wild animal, pretending he didn’t just get shoved off.

Evan would almost be impressed, if he wasn’t in a bad mood already. Why can’t he just be left alone?

“Tomayto, Tomahto,” Jared says, grappling the straps of his backpack as he shimmies a bit to the left to make space for the people walking past them. “When can I come over? My Mom has been bugging me to spend time with you - and out of the house so she can stop wearing pants without judgement, as if I can't judge her at yours.”

“Uhm.” Is the only thing he manages, his brain giving out. “What?” He’s blinking rapidly, struggling to catch up with the abrupt turn of the conversation.

“When are you free so I can come over so we can hang out?” His tone of voice is one of a person talking to a little child and getting impatient at them not understanding. Jared wants to hang out and he asks when he’s free? What? Jared knows better than anyone that he is always free, because he is a loser who isn’t doing anything. Not that Jared has any room to talk, because Evan happens to know that he’s also a loser who isn’t doing anything either. Not that he’d ever admit that.

After a moment, his brain has restarted.

“Uh, maybe the weekend? I’ll have to talk with my mom, obviously but uh yeah.”

“Text me the details then - you have mý number.” And then, weirdly enough, he shoots Evan fingerguns and saunters off.

Evan had been too occupied with keeping the conversation going that he couldn’t even attempt to ask for a signature. What was that?

* * *

Two days later, the doorbell is ringing and Evan is still only half dressed.

He’d known that a shower with a cast on would be difficult, but he hadn’t anticipated that it would take this long. He doesn’t have time to dry more than his body and his hair before the bell rings again, loud and impatient.

He’s slinging a robe over his upper body as he speedwalks towards the door, but doesn’t manage to completely close the wing holes before it rings a third time. 

He’s pulling open the door, out of breath already, a warm breeze only making it more obvious how dripping wet he is.

“Hi,” he spits out. Jared is standing in front of him, punctual as usual, raising an eyebrow.

“Hi.” They look at each other and once again, Evan feels inadequate. Jared is wearing different clothes than before, his hair isn't in total disarray. The biggest difference between them is the wings. His wings are folded behind his back, while Evans are ruffled and opened, angled away from his body, dripping wet. “Are you going to let me enter or are we going to stand here for three hours? Because if we are I will leave.”  
“Oh yeah, sure!” Evan doesn’t know why he’s so stressed about this. It’s only Jared. It’s not like he hasn’t ever been over, it’s just been a while. Probably about two years. The door slams shut.

“Are you gonna take care of that?” He is pointing at Evan’s wings, face between disgust and genuine concern. “I am not sitting on a wet couch.” Yeah, okay, concern for himself and his sitting situation, what did he expect?

“I was- I wanted to let them dry on their own, you know, like because that’s healthier and I can just, I thought I could just sit on the ground, not, it’s not a big deal or anything. You can, you can have the couch.” Why is this happening? Why is he stumbling over his words so much? He knows Jared. Jared doesn’t care.  
“Don’t you have a dryer you can use?” They’re entering the living room, Jared’s bag landing on the ground. Evan feels judged and Jared isn’t even looking at him.

“You see, I’ve tried, but uh.” He lifts his arm, the one that’s broken. “It’s harder than it looks.” Jared laughs, shaking his head.

“You’re hopeless,” he proclaims, crashing onto the couch, opening his wings to dampen his fall. The blue finally makes an appearance. It’s different from what he remembers, no longer one shade dominating. Instead, there are several lighter and darker tones, forming a gradient and it’s even prettier than it used to be when they were younger. How come puberty didn’t magically make his wings look like that?

He lets his eyes wander over them one more time, before he realizes that Jared is still talking. “- be that difficult, you’re exaggerating massively, dude.” 

Something inside Evan snaps. Jared has no right to make stupid comments about it, right after he planted his ass on Evans couch, having wings he doesn’t have to take care of with a broken arm. Of course they look good, his parents are home more than his! They probably do it for him!

“I would like to see you try to groom those wings with no help from anyone!” He winces right after, not because he regrets his words, but he’d attempted to cross his arms to underline his point. His arms, one of which is still broken. 

“Alright, fine, jesus. No need to threaten me,” Jared says, a strange look on his face. He’s getting up, brushing past Evan’s wings. His wings that are as wide open as it’s going to get. When did that happen?

He folds them, so they’re not screaming bloody murder anymore and sits down in front of the couch. It’s not particularly comfortable, but at least the ground is carpeted. 

He shuffles a bit, changing his position until he finds one that’s halfway decent. He’s ready to give up and stay like that, when Jared comes back.  
There’s a wooden box in his hands, the one Evan knows is full of things to groom wings. Usually his mom does it for him, so he doesn’t know what most of the stuff in it is actually for, but what he does know is that the dryer Jared is currently pulling out of it, was originally meant for hair. He is pretty sure none of the little knick knacks have been used for at least a few months. 

His mom is too exhausted to help him on most nights, so he just waits for his wings to dry, out of fear of damaging them on accident. He’d read in some magazine in Dr. Sherman’s office that it was supposed to be healthier and give a natural shine, not that he’s seen the effects of either.

“You’re way too close to the couch, man, move.” Jared, who’s put the box on the ground, is now searching for an outlet, plugging in the cord when he’s found it. “If I have to do this shit, I need enough space.”

“You know, no one forces you to do this,” Evan replies, awkwardly moving closer to the tv without actually getting up. He grabs the remote on his way, the buttons digging into his fingers from how hard he’s gripping it. His heart is racing. “You can stop any time.”

“Too late.” Jared shrugs as he hits the on switch and the dryer starts blowing air at medium heat, right into Evans back. “Wait, I forgot something, here hold this.” With that, the dryer gets dropped into Evans hands, who fumbles until he’s gripping it properly.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”  
“Just do your hair or whatever, be right back.”

“My hair isn’t even wet,” Evan grumbles, but Jared is already gone, doing who-knows-what, the dryer humming softly but steady. 

He opens his wings, hesitating before carefully pointing it at them. And oh. He forgot how good that felt. He’s not reaching every part, but still, it’s nice.  
Why doesn’t he do that more often? Right, he can’t reach every part and nothing is more embarrassing than having only partly dried wings. If he keeps them messy, he can at least pretend it is his own choice. 

Behind him, there’s the sound of a cupboard closing loudly, as well as other noise he can’t quite classify. He finds he doesn’t mind too much. 

A few moments later, Jared appears, dropping a bowl with an assortment of sweets next to him, right between the two of them.

“Let’s do this thing,” he says or at least Evan thinks that’s what he says, he’s a bit hard to understand, clearly chewing on something. He makes grabby hands towards the dryer and Evan hands it over. He’s reminded of when they were younger, probably still in kindergarten, and Evan hadn’t talked a lot. Back then, Jared used to translate and grabby hands was the first one he translated correctly, meaning “Give it to me.”

Evan stares at his hands and oh. He still has the remote in his hands. “Do you want to watch anything in particular?” He looks back at Jared and hey, when did he open his wings that wide? Why does this keep happening today?

“Put on whatever,” Jared answers and takes a green lollipop out of the bowl. Evan’s head turns towards the tv so fast he feels dizzy.

“I don’t think that’s what your mom meant when she said you should eat more greens,” he comments, clicking through different channels, turning up the volume. Jared laughs and blows some air in the general direction of Evan’s face. They’re too far away from each other to make it feel like more than a breeze, but his face still scrunches up, so he laughs too.

“You’re a dick,” Jared says, but he can’t even stay serious enough to not inject something that sounds suspiciously like half a laugh. Evan feels warm and he thinks idly that Jared must have changed the setting on the hair dryer. A smile makes its way onto his lips.

He ends up choosing some dumb reality tv show he doesn’t catch the title of. Not that it matters, all of them are pretty much the same and they’re perfect to make fun of.

He does lower the volume though, these types of shows tend to end up in screaming matches at some point and he’d love to keep his ears working, especially considering he’s sitting closer to the tv than usual.

Around him, Jared moves, is more behind him than on his side now, hot air tousling Evan’s wings. It feels a bit like he’s flying on a sunny afternoon, warm and comfortable. 

There’s nothing holding him back and he closes his eyes because he isn’t actually flying and there is no chance of him crashing or falling, there’s just a light breeze on a summer day. It’s so relaxing in fact that he nearly falls asleep.

Until Jared starts touching him.

He’s suddenly wide awake again, his heart racing, startled out of the calm.  
“Uhm,” he starts, breath shallow. “Uhm, whatareyoudoing?” His hands are shaking, the remote falling to the ground.

“You said grooming,” Jared replies and Evan hears him pulling the box closer and pulling things out. “So what does it look like I’m doing?” His brain crashes.

“Oh,” he manages eventually. He licks his lips, desperately trying to say more. “Oh, okay.” It’s not really better, but it’s all that makes its way out of his throat, so it has to be enough.

It’s not that his wings are an area of his body that’s particularly sensitive to touch. Sure, he can feel things, but he doesn’t feel everything, like with his fingertips.

It’s just because his mom hasn’t really had the time to help him with his wings, so he isn’t really used to someone carefully threading their fingers through his feathers. He’s missed this, he realizes. He is touch starved, that’s what that is.

Jared is humming, but it’s not the song his mom usually hums. It’s the song of Jared’s family and while it’s different, it’s still nice. At times, it even sounds similar, at others like the altogether different melody it actually is. It repeats, like grooming songs tend to do and Evan starts to recognize it after what is probably the fourth repetition. After the sixth, he feels confident enough to join in, quiet but steady.

At times, the sound of scissors, or the rustle Jared’s fingers create by moving his feathers disrupts it, but besides all that, there is not a lot his mind can focus on.  
He could just watch the show, but somehow that seems less appealing, even if it makes him nervous to feel his feathers being rearranged, if only because all of them are laid bare underneath scrutinizing eyes. But Jared is silent, no words falling from his lips.

His hands are just touching him, are pulling out the ones that are broken and cutting off the ones that are too long. Everywhere he touches, it's like someone is sending an electrical shock up Evans nerve system. 

It feels weirdly intimate, how Jared bends his wings at times, moves them so he can reach a part he couldn’t before, how he holds them carefully so as to not break them, but firm enough so they stay in place. The way Jared reaches over Evan’s shoulder to grab a piece of candy or to place a feather that hasn’t been cut up or broken by Evans' clumsiness next to the bowl has his heart jump in his chest.

Sometimes Jared’s breath ghosts over Evans' neck, or his back at spaces where the robe doesn’t cover it completely and he can’t help but notice how warm he hums over his cold skin. Evan feels useless, not able to control his own body, breath coming out shallow, if at all.

He can’t deal with the constant pulling away and pushing closer, can’t deal with the split seconds their wings meet each other, can’t deal with any of it. It's almost hypnotical how the patterns repeat, predictable as to what will happen but spontaneous as to when.

He stares at the sorted feathers. 

The ones with spots are on the right side of the bowl, while the ones that are plain are on the left. His mom usually sorts after colors, not patterns, and she always lets Evan keep the one he finds the prettiest, even if it overlaps with the one she likes the best.

He wonders if the pattern thing is a Jared thing or a Jareds family thing.

“There,” Jared says, finally. He sounds way too satisfied with himself. “Now you’re all dandified.” Evan can hear the woman on the tv yell something about a baby.

“Thanks,” he says and pushes himself up. He’s able to move and talk again, but he still feels a bit dazed.

“You left a lot of feathers,” Jared notes and stays back when Evan enters the master bedroom, where their only floor length mirror is located.

Evan has never been a vain person. He doesn’t like to look at himself in the mirror and he doesn’t wear more than simple, but decent clothing his mom buys for him.  
He usually just feels pitiful, looking at himself. There is nothing good about him, and his looks once again prove that.

The only thing he’d somewhat liked and had been proud of were his wings, but after the fall, he didn’t even like to see them. Chaotic, destroyed, matt. Ugly.

Until now.

Obviously, his face and body are still the same and his clothes are more of a downgrade if anything, but his wings. Holy shit his wings.

They’re _beautiful._

They’re shimmering so bright, it looks like they’re glowing, the light brown transformed into glittering gold. There are no loose ends sticking out, no bent feathers causing lumps, just one unit, smooth and clean. The red speckles are fantastic, hidden and only visible if you know where to look. Evan didn’t know they could be something he likes seeing, but they are.

He can’t remember the last time he’d looked so good. He feels good too, he feels amazing. He tilts his wings and the shimmer follows the light.

They don’t look like they belong to him anymore, but he doesn’t feel like himself anymore either, so it fits. Evan feels like he’s stepped out of the shower after a long day, but looks like it too. Reenergized. He thinks that maybe he could become that person.

He’s so busy moving his feathers and his wings and turning around that he only notices Jared, who leans against the doorway, when he starts talking.

“Look at you,” he teases and Evan looks at him through the mirror, startled at first, but relaxing when he realises who it is. “twirling in front of the mirror like a princess.”

“Don’t you mean prince? I am not a girl, you know.”

“Have you ever seen a prince twirling in front of a mirror?”  
“Have you ever seen a princess doing it?” Jared stares at him for a second, presumably thinking of an argument. He laughs, instead, clutching his stomach.

“Let’s just finish with our show,” he says. He didn’t know what else to say and he didn’t remember the name of the show either, despite being pedantic to the point of annoyance sometimes, Evan knows. Without his input, Evans' lips curl into a smile. He doesn’t call Jared out on it, just turns away from the mirror. “You can even sit on the couch this time.”  
“Wow, how generous.” He snorts, ruining the sarcastic delivery. Jared fluffs up, proud like a peacock, before pointing at himself with his thumbs.

“That’s me, Mr. Generous.” Evan shakes his head, exasperated, stepping into the living room. The _clean_ living room. “Why else would I have spent hours of my time doing your wings for you?” He gestures towards them and then himself. “I’m a hero.”  
“It didn’t take you hours,” Evan protests, giggling. Truth be told, he lost track of time, maybe it did. But it’s not yet dark outside, so it probably didn’t take too long. 

“Felt hours are also hours,” Jared proclaims, his wings slamming against the back of the couch as he crashes into it. Evan wants to run his fingers through them, return the favor, keep the prettiest feather he can find.

Instead, he sits down next to Jared, for once not folding his. Feathers brush against feathers, maybe even deliberately. He knocks their shoulders together, startling Jared who had been busy fishing for the remote that tumbles to the ground once more.

“Thank you,” Evan murmurs. 

“You said that already.” Jared is waving away his words with his left hand and like a reflex, Evan grabs it with his right.

“No.” He shakes his head rapidly. He is bad with saying the right thing at the best of times, but this needs to be good. Jared needs to understand. “Thank _you.”_ Jared looks at him, looks at their hands, looks back at him. “You didn’t have to do that for me, but you did so.” His eyes are still wide and it would almost be comical if Evan didn’t feel pretty similar. He aides his gaze to the ground. He looks at the bowl in front of them, the feathers around it gone. He has an idea of what might have happened with them. He smiles.

Jared clears his throat. “Well then. I guess you’re welcome.” He dives down for the remote and when he gets up again, their hands are still tangled. A small part of Evan is pleasantly satisfied, but he doesn’t comment on it, just interweaves their fingers a little bit more. “Let’s watch something else, I can’t stand the screeching anymore.”


End file.
